


The Wronski Feints

by Pandorascube



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandorascube/pseuds/Pandorascube
Summary: Rodolphus visits an injured Rabastan in the Hogwarts infimary
Kudos: 8
Collections: Half-Blood Prince Drabble Elimination Challenge





	The Wronski Feints

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rodolphus Lestrange sneered at Rabastan. His surly, teenage brother glared at him from his bed in the Hogwarts infirmary, paler than usual and thin as a rake, but nearly a mirror for the tall, dark Lestrange heir. “The Wronski Feint? You’re bloody daft.”

“Shove off, git,” Rabastan growled in return. He gasped suddenly as a wave of nausea and pain washed over him. “I think this is a bad batch of Skele-Gro. Get Pomfrey.”

“Burning down your throat? Feels like your stomach is steaming?” Rodolphus shot an angry smirk at the seemingly accident-prone seventh year. “That’s how it’s supposed to be. It helps deter cocky, insane assholes from performing stupidly dangerous maneuvers to impress the ladies.”

“Oi!” Rabastan groaned and made to sit up in outrage. 

“None of that.” Rodolphus stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and settled next to him on the hospital bed. 

“I think I can feel the bone sliding back together.” He grabbed his brother’s hand as he felt his kneecap remerging and sliding back into place.

“You probably can.” Rodolphus swiped a sweat-drenched strand of hair from Rabastan’s face. “What’s this on about, ‘Bass?” 

“Nothing, mate. Just a bit of grandstanding and broomstick comparing gone wrong. I almost had it too! Malfoy pulled up ages before I did, the pansy tosser. Just two seconds of extra air and I would have escaped unscathed.”

“It wasn’t even during a game, man! Pomfrey told me she’s seen you quite a lot lately, not even mentioning last time they called me here. Fighting a suit of armor? Provoking the Bloody Baron? What’s next? A swimming contest with a merman? Challenging a centaur—”

“I never asked you to come!” Rabastan interjected. “I know you’re fucking busy getting ready to wed that crazy Black whore!” 

“Oi!” Rodolphus stood. “She’s a proper pureblood witch. Don’t talk about her that way.”

“Why not? You don’t like her and even mum thinks she’s creepy.”

“She’s going to be my wife. Don’t talk about her like that unless you want to go on a strictly Skele-Gro diet.” Rodolphus hissed through his teeth, lowering his voice and looming over his sibling.

“You can be honest with me, ‘Dolph. Anyone can see how fascinated she is by Father’s schoolmate. The creepy one who has the creepy nickname, the creepy snake, and is just generally creepy—”

“Father and Lord Black have arranged this union as is our custom. Maybe the bint has other plans, but I will do my duty as the heir of the house Lestrange.” Rodolphus looked around for prying ears. “And honestly, you arse, if there  _ were _ a crazy, powerful witch with an obsession for a crazy, powerful old wizard, maybe talking shite about her would be more dangerous than leaving her be.”

“But—”

“Life is full of Wronsky Feints, brother, and Skele-Gro doesn’t fix all the consequences for making the wrong move at the wrong time. Leave Bella alone. And for Merlin’s sake, stop trying to kill yourself.”

“I’m not— Fuck. This place is hard to navigate without you, Dolph. Slytherin— Well, I’m not as curse-proof with you gone. I didn’t realize—”

“Maybe I did you a disservice, playing the house politics for you with my name.”

“I wish Skele-Gro fixed half of the shit those arseholes put me through,” Rabastan mumbled. “I can take a beating, we were both taught that early. But a ponce sniffing at me for not paying attention to whether my robe’s buttoned to the left—”

“Always right!”

“Or my tie is counterclockwise—”

“Clockwise.”

“See?”

“It’s like another Wronski Feint, ‘Bass. All that fluff is for when you’re sitting pretty, running drills in the sky. Those inches between you and the ground are what matter; the wand work and the craft. No one cares about that society dribble on the wrong end of a Cruciatus. But you’re right, I was born for the world of finesse and social graces.”

“And I’m born to fumble behind—”

“No!” Rodolphus leaned close into his brother. “True power isn’t bargained for in betrothal contracts and house alliances. When the time comes to show the world why our house is superior, I won’t be brandishing the correct pudding fork. True power is showing them that Lestrange isn’t just a dusty old Sacred Twenty Eight bloodline. It will be you and I, casting Fiendfyre down on our enemies and on those who don’t remember that our true currency is a sheer force of magic and will.”

Rabastan nodded, letting his brother’s words settle in. “I’m good at magic.”

“You’re a terror with a wand, ‘Bass. Lean into that.” Rodolphus’s face darkened and he settled back on the bed. “I had a dream.”

“One of your funny ones?”

“Yes.” He took a steadying breath. “It was snakes. Snakes were everywhere, writhing under our feet, carrying us toward a dark figure. When I thought I was about to catch sight of his face, he turned into a Dementor. You grasped my hand and pulled me back. We fell to the ground and hid among the snakes until the danger passed.” Rodolphus shuddered. “I need you, brother.” He leaned to kiss Rabastan’s forehead. “Preferably in one piece.”

“You know—” Rabastan froze, groaning as another wave of churning in his stomach as his ribs began to slide back into place. “Morgana’s tit, this is awful.”

“It’s supposed to be. Seems like it’s going quickly though.” He smiled at his younger brother. “A testament to the strength of the Lestrange magic.”


End file.
